Chapter Twenty-Seven #4
Loss. Loneliness. Confusion. Crazy little Lexi, pitied by all who know her. What kind of world is that?”
He isn’t wrong. I have felt all those things. I almost want to laugh at him for offering this to me, but I can’t. Because
I’m pretty sure that if Harrison had extended me this deal in some of the harder years, I might have taken it.
Because I was desperate. Because I hated my life.
Because I was tired of being me.
But this world gave me my father, who I truly believe did his best. My stepmother, who has always meant well. Maybe they couldn’t
understand or help me as much as I needed them to, but they supported me. They loved me and never turned their backs on me, even when it would have been easier to wash their hands of me and all my drama.
This world gave me Logan—my anchor in any storm. I survived the hard stuff because of him. Because he was always there to hold my hand, to clean up my messes, and to tell me to get over myself.
And then this world brought me here. To the memory of my grandmother, who I didn’t know, but who cared enough to bring me back to this place I think it’s clear
she loved, despite the demons. To the example of a woman who took care of those around her and was ready and willing to sacrifice
herself when the time came. That was how much she believed—not just in the same fight that I’m a part of now, but in me. In
my ability to fight on.
She told everyone here I was the harbinger, a tool for good, and I have to believe she was proud of that. Maybe even of me.
The world brought me to Midas, and Midas gave me Nora and Cleo. Friends. Family. Whatever you want to call it, it happened
fast and felt like forever. That’s all there is to it.
It also gave me Jack. The first time a man has said he loved me because he really, truly does. Because he sees me, believes in me. Because he knows me in ways no one ever has, not even Logan, really. Because we are
meant to end this. I know we are.
A Bellamy and a Darling, the two founding families who sealed the deal, just like it was at the start.
How could I turn my back on all of that to make a deal with the thing that has haunted me my whole life—the thing that made my life hard from the start?
I am standing in the midst of every last one of my nightmares. It’s almost poetic, because normally when I dream these things,
I’m out there roaming.
Now I’m wide-awake and still.
And even more importantly, I’m sure.
Love brought me here and love will see me through.
“Your blood can be voluntary and you can protect everything you love,” Harrison continues, sounding calm and caring at first. But it changes, with the sneer crossing his face.
“Or it can be involuntary. And you can die. And so can they. The Feed is in the offing. They’ll be taken, devoured.
I’ll insist on it. It’s your choice, Lexi.
Life for them. Or screaming, bloody, horrible death for all. ”
My choice. The real gift Midas gave me.
“Harrison,” I say, and my voice is perfectly even. I’m not even trying. “There is nothing that could ever convince me to become
you.”
“That’s a shame, Lexi.” He holds the knife up. “Then you will meet the same fate as everyone who has denied me.”
His eyes gleam. Terror swamps me, but I refuse to look away. “I thought you needed a harbinger to become what you wanted.”
He sneers at that. Clearly, I’ve pissed him off, and I love that for me. Because something I’ve always been able to do is
annoy the shit out of people when I want to. Sometimes even if I don’t mean to. I can make a man apoplectic in two sentences,
kids. One, if I’m well-caffeinated.
But it’s short-lived and morphs back into that evil smile. “I’ll just wait for the next one.”
Harrison brings the knife down then. I brace myself for the slashing, the slice, the burn of the agony I know is coming.
I can taste my own blood in my mouth. I can’t run. I have no weapons.
He’s pulling all the strings. He has all the power. He has demons.
I see Cleo’s broken body in my head and choke back the sob that tries to rise in my chest.
All I can do is brace for impact and hope it’s quick.
But I fucking hate that plan.
I squeeze the rocks in my palms tighter, and it makes me realize I can move my arms. My legs are locked into place. I’m stuck past my knees.
But my arms can move.
When I think that, I know exactly what I have to do.
It’s instinctual, which is odd considering I’ve never thrown anything but a tantrum in my life, but I pull my hands out of
my pockets and hurl the rocks directly at Harrison.
Instead of slurping, there is a pained sort of hiss. It fills the whole inner chamber of the clock tower, echoing loudly in my ears—and instead of being stuck in place, something
around me releases.
It’s a shock, but even in my shock I know I have to act. Immediately.
Harrison still has that knife and the shadows are moving wildly, but I know they’ll focus on me again. I didn’t kill anything.
I just shocked them for a second or two, so I have to take it. I won’t get another.
I do the only thing I can in this moment. I run.